Back from Jinga

Bry'Chell and I went to Jinga for a long weekend. I had traded class meeting times with another instructor at his request, so I had a long weekend. I figured Bry'Chell is only doing a few weeks of this school term, so seeing the River Nile would be more educational than learning agriculture.

We rode the UMU bus into Kampala on Thursday afternoon, stayed the night at the Grail and took a public bus--a small bus known as a coaster--to Jinga on Friday morning.

We also road public transportation back to Nkozi. It was quite an adventure, but I'm whipped and on my way to bed. I'll fill in the details in the next few days.

Kevin is a Girl's Name

One of the more revered women in the modern history of Uganda is Mother Mary Kevin Kearney, OSF. She was an Irish immigrant to the U.S. who then came to Uganda and founded the Little Sisters of St. Francis. I've written about the Little Sisters before, they're one of the largest congregations in Uganda with sisters all over East Africa.

Because of Mother Kevin's beloved status, many girls are names after her. Sometimes they are called Kevina since Mother Kevin is affectionately known as Mama Kevina, but often they are named Kevin.

The first few times I heard someone call out Kevin, I looked around for some guy to respond, but it was always a girl or woman who responded. So I learned, in Uganda, Kevin is a girl's name.

Water is Life

Here in Uganda, and I suspect in most of Africa, if not much of the developing world, people use the phrase, "Water is life." Its meaning is very literal. A person can do without food for a time, and many people do, but water is a necessity. Without water death rules.

In our area, water is plentiful. However, getting the water can be another story. Water does not come piped into homes from the central municipal water supply. Well, water may be piped in some places in Kampala, but not here in Nkozi, or in other rural areas.

People get water from lakes, streams, swamps, boreholes (what I know as pumps), and tanks that collect rainwater as well as the few fortunate souls who have water piped to the house.

Living on campus, we are among the few who have running water at home. At least we had water until three days ago when both of the pumps broke down at the same time. Now we don't.

Fortunately, Bry'Chell had just filled the drinking water jerry cans so we're in good shape for drinking water.

However, drinking water is a small part of our water needs. Usually I use water from the tap for cooking. Water that is boiled is safe for consumption and I figure water we use for cooking ends up being boiled, so the drinking water supply goes further by not using it for cooking.

There is a tank by the administration building that collects rain water, so, when the water goes out, we can get water there. Tank is something of a misnomer. Yes, the water is stored in an underground tank, but there's an electric pump on the side. You turn on the switch and water comes out of a pipe. That's the easy part.

The challenge is carrying the water home. It's a bit of a hike. Nothing outrageous, but it is several hundred years and water is heavy--eight pounds to the gallon if Dad's information is right--so a five gallon bucket is 40 pounds. Two buckets are 80 pounds.

Saturday evening when we arrived home we had some water in the house, so we were OK. However, Bry'Chell was starting back to school on Monday and not wanting to send off a stinky kid to school, we needed water for Sunday baths.

Sunday evening we took our buckets and jerry cans and went to fetch water. It was no big deal. We filled two buckets and a small jerry can. Since the buckets have lids, we carried them back with a minimum of spillage. Even so, the sides of our trousers were soaked by the time we arrived home.

Later in the evening Carol and her little sister Bonnie brought us two more small jerry cans of water. We were set in comfort. I appreciated their kindness. I'm sure Sr. Prisca sent them over.

We had enough for baths and dishes. Of course, we minimized our usage for those purposes. It's amazing how little water you can get by with for dishes and bathing. We bath by putting water in a plastic basin (one ordinarily used for laundry) in the tub, standing in the tub and washing up. It works. We heat water in the electric kettle and add it to the basin.

We even had enough water to flush the toilet once. I won't go into details there. Suffice to say, I see the value of an outhouse.

Monday is usually the day Specioza does laundry. I was out getting some class material copied when she arrived, but I was home shortly afterwards. I told her not to even to try to do laundry. It just takes too much water and carrying all the water is unnecessary since the water should be on in a couple of days. We have enough clothes to see us through until then. The nice thing was that Specioza arrived with her own jerry can of water so she could at least mop the floors.

A few minutes after that, Richard, our gardener, arrived with a large jerry can of water. This was great. Now I could flush the toilet again and have some for dishes and general use.

Early afternoon I went to get another bucket of water, so we would have enough water for baths and dishes in the evening. However, later, in the early evening, Richard returned with two more large jerry cans of water.

I didn't ask for any of this, but people here are kind and know the importance of water. In some ways, I would prefer to do things myself, but how can I refuse such generosity?

Most people here, including Specioza and Richard, do not have running water. They carry water everyday. It's good for us to have this authentic Ugandan experience. I'm sure that most of Bry'Chell's schoolmates at St. Mary's carry water when they get home. And I'm also sure they carry it further then we do. Some people have to go several kilometers to get water. The quality of the water supply for many people is not as good as ours. We're fortunate to have good quality water. Water is part of life. Water is life.

Rodents and Grasshoppers

I saw my first mouse in Uganda on Friday in the slum by Nsambya. I saw my first rat today on campus--dead in the mouth of a cat. I haven't really thought about it, but given the climate and the availability of food, I would have expected to see more of a rodent population than I have. Shoot, I've seen more rodents in Chicago than here. The rats in Chicago are bigger than the one I saw this morning the the cat's mouth.

The most interesting thing I have learned about rodents is not part of my personal experience (thank God). People talk about edible rats. It sounds like an oxymoron to me. Edible and rat do not belong in the same paragraph, let alone in the same sentence.

Evidently, there are rats in some parts of the country that people eat. I guess meat is meat, but edible rat does not sound appetizing. I'd have to be really, really hungry with no other options to even consider eating a rat.

There is another delicacy I have no desire to try--grasshoppers. Saturday when Jessica, Hope's mother was showing us through the market there was a vendor sitting on the ground by her stand cleaning grasshoppers--cleaning, as in taking off all the appendages and putting them in a basket. People were coming to buy them. Grasshoppers are considered a delicacy. One that I will take a pass on.

Later on Saturday when Bry'Chell and I were in the bus, Richard, the driver, passed two bags to grasshoppers to his son, Michael. I think Michael was taking them home to his mother. I believe they're served fried.

Michael is one of Bry'Chell's friends. He's a nice boy who has been over to visit a couple of times. I told Bry'Chell that before she kisses any Ugandan boy she might want to think about what goes in his mouth.

Back to School for Bry'Chell

Bry'Chell's month long holiday comes to an end at 7:15 AM tomorrow when the new term begins at St. Mary's. Just about the time her peers in Chicago are getting ready to begin their summer vacation, Bry'Chell is heading back to school.

Her holiday wasn't much of a holiday. She spent a good bit of the time studying math, US History and vocabulary words. However, she did it at her own pace with a lot less structure than the regular school day. Every week she had twenty words, she did one or two sections of history a day and whatever math Fr. Henry assigned.

Bry'Chell also watched more than her share of movies and increased her collection of local Ugandan music. Her schedule was pretty reasonable.

Today when we went to St. Mary's to check in for the new term, I was talking with Sr. Sanyu about Maria, the girl who sells bananas. Maria is in 5th grade. She wants to go to St. Mary's when she finishes primary school. It's more than her family can afford, even for a day scholar. The tuition for the year is about $200 American dollars and that includes the uniform. Maria's family has plenty of bananas, cassava, sweet potatoes and even a few chickens and eggs. What they don't have is cash. Cash is needed for sugar, salt, tea and school fees.

Maria has been coming for tutoring everyday during the break. Bry'Chell does most of it. I've been working with Maria on her times tables. She wants a pair of earrings (called pins here -- don't ask me why.) I told her that she could have them when she could recite her times tables -- 2 x 2 to 12 x 12 without any mistakes. She's still making lots of mistakes, so she didn't get the earrings today. She was pretty mad at me. I think she wanted the earrings for her first day back at school. Oh well, guess she'll have to study more.

Bry'Chell was sympathetic. She remembers when she didn't get the promised bribe for memorizing her times tables because she failed to take me seriously. She told Maria that she should study more.

I'll be she has them down before the end of the week.

The Slums of Kampala

Kampala has many slum neighborhoods. The morning after our arrival I walked outside our very cool, very expensive fake-rustic motel room to look down the hill into a slum neighborhood. The first thing that crossed my mind was that Kampala must not have much by the way of zoning laws. I've since learned that zoning laws are non-existent.

The sociologist in me really really wanted to go into the slums. The responsible guardian-type of a now 13 year old, thought it might not be the best idea to do by myself.

It took a while but I finally had an offer for a tour of the slums. Henry, Bry'Chell's school mate lives by one of the slums--his mother has a small hotel on the edge of the slums by Nsambya (the Kampala neighborhood where the American Embassy is located).

Bry'Chell and I were invited to stay at the hotel and Henry offered to show us around the slum. Bry'Chell was less interested in this little adventure than I was. (What else is new.) I agreed to let her stay home and I received the grand tour.

This isn't a slum like the projects of Chicago, or even Watts in south central L.A. The closest thing in my experience is the areas on the edge of Tijuana.

While I was only in one slum, the pattern is similar. Slum neighborhoods are often where poor families moving from rural areas first locate. Rents are cheap--you can find a one-room place for about 10,000 Ugandan schillings a month (about $5), slightly better housing for 20,000. These are not the better places in the slums. Even the slums have levels of housing.

The sights of the slums are not the most obvious characteristic--rather it's the smell. That they have in common the with projects in Chicago, although there's a greater variety of smells in the Kampala slums. Not only are there human smells, there are also animal smells.

Of course, there's the open sewage smell, but there's also the smell of cattle and goats kept in very confined quarters.

There are cooking smells. Most cooking seems to be done on the ubiquitous charcoal stoves that are outside every compound. The food smelled good, but I was a bit concerned about the proximity of open sewers.

During the rainy season, the water washes through the neighborhood, flooding latrines (outhouses) and homes, mixing rain water with sewage and making an all-round unhealthy mix of liquids.

Usually I wear sandals. For the slums I wore gym shoes.

Henry did a great job of showing me the neighborhood. Like any other neighborhood, the kids are curious about me--there's all the bye-muzungu stuff, but these kids seemed to have a greater need to touch me. I'm not sure what that was about, but I try to be friendly to the children so I shook many grubby little hands. In many ways the slum kids were dressed better than the rural kids--well, except for those running around naked.

I stayed at Henry's mom's hotel. It's a small fenced-in compound with several rooms that open into a dirt courtyard. Henry's mom is in the process of adding some rooms in the middle of the courtyard. The rooms are simple but clean. The hospitality was great. His mom is a good cook. I think I had the best matooke with g-nut sauce that I've ever had.

The rooms were not self contained, meaning there was no bathroom in the room. However, the latrines were clean--no smell at all and the bathing facilities, while spartan, were clean and they heated water so I could have a warm bath. Again, this is the bath-in-a-basin type bath. The water was warm and I got clean. That's all I ask.

This is my own personal weirdness, but I found the slums as interesting as many of the more touristy sights we've been to see.

World Vision

When you turn on the road to Nkozi at Kayawbe there's a sign that says World Vision, Nkozi. Unfortunately, World Vision closed their office and left a bunch of kids high and dry. Like many organizations, World Vision pays school fees for needy children. Of course, "needy kids" can define much of the area population.

Given that the median age is 15 and that the average per capita income is about $453 per year (and with the world economy being as it is, income is projected to decrease next year), most residents of the area can be defined as needy children and youth.

The first we (meaning folks at UMU) knew about World Vision closing their office was when kids started showing up on campus looking for work. One teenage girl came to the house of Sr. Cecilia and Sr. Lucy wanting to know if they needed someone to clean and do laundry. Sr. Cecilia talked with the girl and found out that she needed money for school fees. Unfortunately, the school year had already started, the first term was well underway and there was no way for the girl to catch up so she has lost the year. Sr. Cecilia said she will talk to Sr. Sanyu at St. Mary's and arrange for the girl to go there next year. The girl will work for Srs. Cecila and Lucy as a way of earning her school fees.

World Vision left the kids high and dry. This girl said no one told her that the office was closing until she found out her school fees were not paid. No offense, but World Vision went way down on my list of reputable charities. I can understand closing an office, but I cannot understand doing it without making some plans to assist the children who are being helped, or at least informing them of the plan.

Fortunately, the sisters will pick up the slack, but the kid still loses a year of school and the sisters really don't have those kind of extra resources. School fees for a day scholar (non-boarding student) are less than $200 per year. For $200 a kid can get a uniform, shoes, socks, go on the school trip and have all their tuition paid. It's not right for World Vision to drop kids like that while painting a rosy picture of what wonderful work they do. Figures the nuns pick up the slack.

The River Nile

Yesterday I went to Jinga as part of the research project I've been working on with some students. On our way there we crossed the Nile River.

Jinga bills itself as the source of the Nile. I'm told a few other places do as well. Whatever. The river is big and really quite beautiful. It's much prettier than the Mississippi River, which as the Great Muddy is, well, muddy. The Nile is a beautiful blue with what looked like a significant current.

Given that the Nile is a river of literally bibical proportions, it was cool to see it.

The other landscape feature we navigate yesterday was part of the Trans-African Highway. It is one of the better roads I have been on since arriving in Uganda. It is the first divided highway I have seen in the country. The Trans-African Highway is actually a system of highways linking the continent. However, I'm told that parts of it are still dirt roads. That doesn't surprise me too much. Dirt roads are still the most common type of road in Uganda, and much of Africa from what my sources tell me. Paved or tarmac roads are something of a luxury. Even the road that connects UMU to the main highway is a dirt road--a bumpy, rutted dirt road. Main roads and most artial roads in cities and towns are paved. Other roads are generally dirt roads.

Jinga is a nice town. I'd like to spend more time there, but I was there for business and had to return right away. Oh well, maybe in a couple of weeks.

Harriett Wants to be a Sister

Harriett is 11 years old. She's in P. 6 (6th grade). Her brother, Andrew, a friend of Bry'Chell's, brought her over the other day to talk to me because Harriett wants to be a sister when she grows up.

The kid is brilliant. She was at the top of her class in 5th grade. Her ranking dropped a bit because she had to stay home for three weeks during the first term of 6th grade to care for her mother after the last baby was born. After missing three weeks of school she was only the fifth highest in her class.

Unlike many kids here she likes to read and reads well. I gave her one of Bry'Chell's books to read and she sat down and was absorbed in it before I turned around. She is very focused on whatever she does and very serious about being a sister.

This is not to say that she's not a perfectly normal kid. Unlike many of the girls here, she likes to play soccer with Bry'Chell and actually makes Bry'Chell work at defending the goal. It's funny to watch the two of them--Bry'Chell is her very American jeans, t-shirt and gym shoes and Harriett in a bright orange organdy dress and bare feet--running around kicking a soccer ball.

Harriett also is known to disagree with her older brother, not something Bugandan girls do. While she is polite, she knows how to speak her mind even to boys, not a common characteristic in a culture that expects girls to be obedient and subservient (they would say humble).

Kids here--girls and boys--talk freely about being sisters or priests. It's not weird. There are lots of them. Most of them will never have the opportunity because communities cannot afford to take them. Communities, especially communities of sisters, don't have the resources to nurture and educate all the young women who want to be sisters.

However, being a sister is not an easy choice. In some Ugandan cultures (and each tribe has their own culture), a woman is not really considered a woman unless she has child. Becoming a sister means that one's culture may never really recognize the woman as an adult, she is forever seen as a child. Still, there are many sisters and many young woman who really want to be sisters. Their sense of call is stronger than their attachment to that part of their culture.

I've introduced Harriett to Sister Elizabeth and Sister Cecilia. I figure she needs to meet more communities. When I met her she only knew the Little Sisters of St. Francis. They're a large congregation and a fine group of women, but I figured she needs to broaden the scope of her knowledge. Even here, different communities have different personalities and it's a good idea to look around and find a community that fits. The Little Sisters of St. Francis seem to take obedience a bit more literally than some other communities. I can't quite see Harriett fitting in with them. She's a little too feisty.

Taking a Taxi to Kampala

First, let me define taxi. Don't think yellow four-door sedan. Think fifteen passenger van. Here a taxi is a van. It picks up people along the route it travels. Taxis are privately owned. You can also hire a taxi--the whole thing, like chartering a bus.

On Saturdays the university has started providing transportation into Kampala so people can do their shopping. It's a nice service. I haven't taken advantage of it because I usually do my shopping when I have to go to the embassy for something.

Yesterday we received an email saying that the electricity would be off this weekend due to some electrical upgrade on campus. I figured it might be a good day to go into town. We couldn't do much here anyway.

Since all the university buses and vans were occupied Sister Warden (actually Sister Justine, who is the campus warden--manages transportation, housing and such) hired a taxi to take whoever was interested to Kampala. Bry'Chell and I were among those going. We left shortly after 9 AM.

We arranged to meet Henry at the Shop Rite where the taxi dropped us off. I didn't want to do too much shopping because I'd have to carry whatever we got until the taxi returned at 3 PM.

We walked to Quality Cuts for lunch--they have good sandwiches--and stopped at the Embassy Supermarket to get some more Cadbury cooking chocolate to make more chocolate chip cookies. Since Henry was with us, I didn't worry about getting lost.

Knowing that the taxi would probably be late, I figured we should still be back on time. The one time I was late would be the one time the taxi was there on time. We were waiting for a few minutes when Christine (another passenger from UMU) came by to say that the driver had called her to say he'd be back about 4 PM (of course, this could mean anything between 4 and 5). Christine went to do a few more chores, but we decided to stick around. We'd finished what we had to do, so we--Bry'Chell, Henry and I--were sitting on plastic milk crates reading our books.

As I'm sitting there I see the university bus drive by. I recognized the driver as Peter. I'm wondering if there's been a change of plans and the bus has been sent to get us, but it drives right past--although not very fast. I pulled out my cell phone and called Peter--fortunately I had his number. He was stopping about a block or two away (not a real block, just about that distance) to drop off someone.

He got out of the bus to look for me. I waved and he waited. About now, Sr. Cecilia, who was on the bus called me to confirm that it was me. It was. We caught up to the bus and had a much more comfortable and quicker ride back to campus.

Six months ago I would have just sat there with a dumb look on my face wondering what the heck was going on. Today, I didn't question the circumstances, I just acted. Providential as we would say.

Of yeah, if you're wondering how I'm on the internet when the power is out, it's because my laptop is fully charged and my internet connection--slow as it is--uses cell phone technology. Neither relies on the campus electrical grid. Now, I don't have unlimited power, but enough to get on my blog. Since my email is based on the campus servers, I can't access that, but general internet is fine.

Night Dancers

Today Bry'Chell's friend Michael came to visit. Bry'Chell was telling him about the route where we run. Michael--a tall, well-muscled sixteen year old--told Bry'Chell that he wouldn't go that way because there are Night Dancers in the banana fields.

Night Dancers are a piece of culture here that I don't have a clear grasp of, but which are sort of a combination of boogie man and witchcraft. They're a mix of fantasy and reality. Most often they are used to scare children into behaving, but they do exist. A Night Dancer is a person--normal appearing during the day--who dances naked, digs up and eats corpses at night. They are described as cursed or bewitched. Exactly how much is true depends on who you talk to. Some people see Night Dancers everywhere, others see it as a rare practice mostly used to scare children into behaving. As in--don't stay out after dark or the Night Dancers will get you.

Still, practices like witchcraft and night dancers are not entirely imaginary and include things like child sacrifice--which is basically a get-rich-quick scheme. Sacrifice an innocent child and you will get rich. Sick, but it happens. It's, of course, more complex than I can describe, but that's the gist of it.

The Malaria Test

No, neither of us has malaria. We're fine, really.

This afternoon Bry'Chell threw up. It would not be a big deal except that Bry'Chell NEVER vomits. She's had cramps the last couple of days--probably the worst ones I can remember her ever having. I took her temperature last night just to make sure it was normal. It was. I gave her an advil and sent her to bed early.

This morning she was feeling marginally better, but still pretty lousy. I wasn't especially worried. She skipped breakfast but ate lunch. We went for a little walk thinking that some exercise might help.

A little while after we returned from the walk, Bry'Chell tossed her cookies. That was enough to call for a trip to the campus infirmary. The nurse checked her out, said she thought it was related to her cramps, but just in case we should get a malaria test for Bry'Chell at the hospital. The hospital is right next to campus, so it's no great distance.

We went to the private side of the hospital--where they charge. I could have used Bry'Chell's insurance, but it would probably cost more to call the company to file the claim than the visit and test cost. The nurse took her temperature (Bry'Chell's first experience with an old fashioned thermometer) and weighed her (she's gained about five pounds, if the scale is to be trusted). The doctor came in. Here doctors are required to have a bachelor's degree--this guy looked just barely old enough to have his. He confirmed that a malaria test was in order.

The nurse came back, told Bry'Chell not to look while she pricked her finger--Bry'Chell looked anyway. The nurse wiped some of Bry'Chell's blood on a microscope slide and gave Bry'Chell a piece of cotton to mop up the rest of the blood. She then walked the slide across the compound so someone could look at it under a microscope to see if there were any pathogens in her blood.

The nurse came back about fifteen minutes later with another doctor (as young as the first one) who told us the test was negative.

The cost for a doctor's visit and the malaria test came to a wopping 9,600 shillings--at the current exchange rate, about $4.30. Can you imagine a doctor's visit and medical test for less than five dollars at home?

Still, the cost is out of the reach of most Ugandans.

Oh yeah, while the nurse stepped out I weighed myself, the first since I've been in Uganda. Again, if the scale is to be trusted, I've lost about fifteen pounds. I sure don't feel like it. My clothes fit the same as ever.

Today at the American Embassy

Today Sr. Cecilia, Sr. Elizabeth, Bry'Chell and I went to the American Embassy in Kampala. The reason for the visit was to explore educational opportunities for Cecilia and Elizabeth--specifically Ph.D. programs in the US. Hopefully, Ph.D. programs with generous fellowships.

Connie, the educational specialist was a real help. She was able to point us toward the right resources and provided a list of organizations that fund scholarships and fellowships for international students, especially graduate students.

Bry'Chell had to tag along because she's out of school and I don't like to leave her alone all day. Besides, her friend Patricia was with us. On our way to Kampala, we dropped her off at the Taxi Park outside Kampala so she could catch a shuttle back to Entebbe, her home. The two of them took forever to say goodbye. I hate to think what it will be like when we leave Uganda in six weeks.

That's right, six weeks and we'll be on our way back to Chicago. It's hard to imagine.

Picnic on the Hill

Bry'Chell's friend Patricia has been staying with us for a few days. Yesterday, Bry'Chell suggested going up to the hill that overlooks the area. It's a bit of a hike, but nothing too strenuous. The view is beautiful. Although there are many places on campus with a view of Lake Victoria, the view from the top of the hill is spectacular. Unfortunately, the camera does not catch the breathtaking panorama of the view.

We packed a picnic lunch and headed for the hill. It was a perfect day for both a short hike and a picnic. As usual, we passed several groups of children all of whom had to say--muzungu, muzungu, muzungu. I smiled and waved. Bry'Chell told me to ignore them.

We took turns carrying the knapsack with our food and picnic stuff. I took the first leg which turned out to be the easiest. By the time it was Patricia's turn we were hiking up the hill. It was a pretty steep climb. There are no switchbacks on the trail to ease the climb (or prevent erosion), it's just straight up the hill.

Once we arrived at the top I scouted out a level spot with a good view. We spread the blanket--a sheet really--and sat down to eat. We could hear kids arriving shortly after we settled in. We ignored them. The cattle were less easy to ignore and they seemed to find us a curious attraction. They kept munching their way closer and closer to us. Before long we've surrounded on three sides by half a dozen head of cattle. They didn't get too close, so we just ate and enjoyed the view.

Once we finished eating Patricia settled down with a book and Bry'Chell went off to take pictures with the camera. At this point, the kids came closer and were giving me the muzungu stuff again. Patrica told them--in Lugunda--that my name was not muzungu, but Sister Judy. From then on they politely and incessantly started calling me Uncle Judy. Oh well, it was better than muzungu.

I gave them the rest of the chocolate chip cookies--there were six kids, so it was only a half a cookie each. It's better than nothing.

We finished up, cleaned up our stuff and checked out the view from all around the hill. I took several pictures of the kids. I'll try to post some, although I'm not having much luck with posting photos these days. The connection is just too slow. I do go back and add appropriate photos from time to time, so it might be worth checking some older posts to see what I've added. When I'm in Kampala the connection is faster and sometimes I can actually post photos.

We hung around for a while and then headed back. The downhill was more treacherous than uphill, but we made it down with no more than a couple of squeals from Bry'Chell and Patricia.

Protein Enhanced Water

Ants are a pervasive fact of life around here. While there are many kinds of ants, the most pervasive ones in the house are little red ants. They're harmless, just ubiquitous. They are literally everywhere. Lately they've taken to crawling up the jerry cans where we keep our drinking water.

For drinking water, Bry'Chell fills jerry cans with filtered water from the student dining hall. When the dining hall is closed we have to boil water, but that doesn't happen very often. We keep our drinking water in five liter jerry cans on top of the refrigerator. It works. But lately, the ants have taken an interest in our water. Even with the lids screwed on tightly, some ants manage to get into the water. So, occasionally we drink ants with our water.

People pay good money for water enhanced with vitamins. Target has it on sale this week for a dollar a bottle according to the ad that showed up in my email. Here, we get protein enhanced water for free. What more can I ask?

Running

While Henry was visiting I started running again. I haven't been running since Bry'Chell and I arrived in August. It's a shame in some ways because the weather is great year round, but it took me a while to figure out the cultural stuff around women's dress. Most women don't wear shorts--OK, almost NO women wear shorts--and I had no intention of running in long pants. Now, I was willing to make a compromise and run in basketball shorts (longer) rather than my usual short running shorts. It just became a matter of making myself do it.

Henry convinced me to go for a run with him. We went out three times while he was here. The altitude and the hills are a bit of a challenge, but it's not bad. We've been living at 3,000 plus feet for eight months now, so I'm pretty used to it and it's not that high. The hills are OK if I take them slow. I'm not exactly moving very fast anyway. My goal is to keep moving, not to beat any time records.

Since Henry left Bry'Chell has been running with me. She's good. Since she's only 13, she doesn't have much experience with running any distance, but she can keep a steady pace. The challenge is convincing ourselves to get out there and run. Bry'Chell actually initiated getting us out there today. We ran for a good thirty minutes.

People don't really seem to care what we wear since we're obviously just a couple of crazy muzungus. One little boy today started laughing when he saw us and he didn't stop for quite a while. I could hear him laughing in the distance as we ran down the trail/road.

Today as Bry'Chell and I were running up the hill there were two women walking down in their traditional gomesis. We smiled and waved at each other, the Ugandans in their traditional clothes and the Americans in t-shirts and shorts.

My running shoes are trail runners. Usually I run in Calumet Park in Chicago, where 95th Street runs into Lake Michigan. I probably don't need trail runners there, but I like the extra stability they provide. Here, on rutted dirt roads that deteriorate into narrow paths, trail runners are a good idea. However, kids here--even teens--often run barefoot, so fancy shoes are not essential for running. Kids here even play soccer barefoot. It hurts my feet just to watch them.

We'll be heading home in just under seven weeks. Bry'Chell says she more than half wants to stay here. I can understand.